


Enjoy the Movie

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: Sam's Bedtime Stories [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Friday Night Movies Nights Should Absolutely Be A Thing, M/M, Social Anxiety, Stiles Is A Pushy Little Shit, Unbeta'd We Die Like Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Derek doesn't get out much, even now that Stiles and Scott have moved into the rebuilt Hale House with him.And Stiles is having NONE OF THAT.Alternate Title: Coaxing the Wolf from His Den
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Sam's Bedtime Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041771
Comments: 15
Kudos: 122





	Enjoy the Movie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SamTheSnake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamTheSnake/gifts), [Orchidaexa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchidaexa/gifts), [personaljunkdrawer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/personaljunkdrawer/gifts), [SpiderBeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderBeans/gifts), [Tarvera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarvera/gifts), [LivviBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivviBee/gifts).



> Just a quick bedtime story I wrote for some friends, which worked wonderfully because most of them fell asleep about three sections in.
> 
> Unbeta'd because it's so short there's no point in beta'ing it!

"You whimper in your sleep," accused Stiles, turning slightly from the fridge to frown at Derek.

Derek scowled back. "So?"

"So, you whimper in your sleep," repeated Stiles, shrugging. "If you didn't know."

"I didn't know," said Derek shortly, re-tying the bread and tossing it into the corner of the countertop. Inviting them here was a mistake, he knew that now. He could admit it. Peter had talked him into it, but it was a mistake, and like all of Peter's mistakes, somehow Derek was the only one living with the consequences.

"Well, you should know," said Stiles, adding, "We have nothing to fucking eat."

"We have food," sighed Scott. "Move, I'll- I'll figure something out."

"We have nothing to fucking eat," declared Stiles, whirling and blocking the fridge. "Derek, stop eating- what is that, peanut butter and jelly? You are a grown man! Grown men eat pizza."

Derek stared at Stiles for a long moment and then shrugged, sidling out of the kitchen while Scott protested, "Dude, we do not have the budget for pizza."

"Where there is a will, there is a way," intoned Stiles and Derek paused, just outside the kitchen, wondering if he should go get involved, should offer his wallet like he'd offered his home to the cashless college boys. Any trouble Stiles found for them in pursuit of pizza, they'd bring home, he was sure of it. He could head it off right now, turn around, go back in there, offer-

He shook his head, and took another bite. No. That wasn't why they were there, after all, to make friends, to- to share pizza. The other men were living in his newly rebuilt home to have a safe place with a roommate who respected wards, with cheap rent, and what else had Peter said? Oh yeah, _'Derek, you could use the extra free labor to fix the place up.'_

Derek snorted, climbing the stairs. The idiot contractors Stiles had mysteriously located had been much more useful.

He closed the double-insulated door to his bedroom quietly, as gently as possible, and settled down to figure out the next project, one half of his attention on the epic stupid battle raging in the kitchen below. On cue, just as they were debating the merits of _actual theft_ versus _technical prostitution_ , a car pulled up and more of the PuppyPatrolPack flooded his hearing, with shouts of, "Stiles!" and "Scott!" and "It's Friday night!"

The house quickly exploded into noise and laughter as the children gathered, someone paying for pizza delivery- he didn't catch who in the flurry of conflict over what toppings were acceptable to the whole group in which combinations.

"Hey, man, is he, like, gonna come down tonight?" asked Jackson quietly.

"No idea," sighed Stiles.

Derek tried to tune them out. It hurt, still, the thought that he wouldn't be welcome, that he'd only interrupt their fun, but he'd learned, the last few months, that he was nothing but an interruption for the younger, close-knit group. They bumbled about like the puppies he and Peter mocked them for being- making and breaking relationships, falling into beds and couches with each other and then standing up seconds later only to swear undying affection for someone else within the pack. It was fun to watch from a distance but whenever he stalked down the stairs, even to grab a drink and return back to his room, the mood shifted to watchful wariness, all eyes turned toward him in a way that made his skin crawl.

No.

Derek had long since learned not to stick his nose where it wasn't wanted.

And to be cautious of friendship in inviting packages.

He'd just stay up here, tonight, again, and let the puppies bound around downstairs like the bumbling idiots they were.

At least they were fun to listen to, and they filled the old house with howls of laughter and disbelief and mocking joy. The house deserved that, appreciated it, he could tell. The rooms were always just a little warmer, when the whole pack was home.

But Stiles wouldn't leave well enough alone, knocking on his door a half-hour later, demanding that he come downstairs and eat a slice.

Derek eyed him up, the slim, trim body that always contained so much frantic and frenetic energy. "Go have fun, Stiles," he told the boy- the man, really, Stiles was well beyond his boyhood years and boyhood thoughts, well beyond the boy Derek had first been annoyed by, all those long years ago.

"I am having fun," Stiles told him, with a grin. "C'mon, Sourwolf, it's a slice of goddamn pizza, not a ten course meal. Come with me. You come out of your room when it's just me and Scott, you eat with us. Sometimes."

"Sometimes," agreed Derek shortly. Sometimes he did.

"So, this can be one of those times, too," offered Stiles. "C'mon, I'm not taking no for an answer."

Derek stood firm and looked at him, unimpressed.

"Well, okay, yes, I will actually respect your boundaries and your, like, _personhood_ , I'm not going to force you to come downstairs, Der," sighed Stiles with exasperation, rolling his eyes. "But this can be one of the times you come eat with us, Der."

When had he gone from _Derek_ to _Der_? He couldn't put his finger on the exact moment, but at some point, sometime in the last few months, it had started slipping in, and he hadn't wanted it to stop, so he'd- let it.

"I'm not hungry," he lied.

"Dude, I'm not a werebeast, and _I_ could sense that lie," laughed Stiles, his eyes inviting Derek to join in the joke. They softened then, and became hard to look at, so Derek turned away. "C'mon, it's just pizza, and you know everyone," said Stiles quietly. "Don't- don't stay up here. You can, like, sit in a corner and glower, if you want, but don't- don't stay up here. Alone."

Derek felt the sneer and forced it down. Stiles didn't deserve that. None of these puppies did. And that's what decided him. "Yeah, okay," he sighed.

"Yesss," mock-cheered Stiles, his face cracking into a huge smile. 

"Just for one slice, though," said Derek firmly.

"Sure, whatever, dude, I don't care," agreed Stiles triumphantly, bowing Derek through the door. "Just, like, thank you, Your Majesty, for descending, and don't mind the idiots, and like, I'm sorry they're idiots, okay? But they have, uh, good hearts. Mostly. You get used to Jackson."

Derek snorted.

Stiles grinned again, and steered him into the kitchen. "Did you pick a movie?" he shouted into the living room. "Because if you're still fighting when I get in there, I declare victory and we're watching Lethal Weapon 2!"

"We're not watching some dumb cop show," Lydia called back, her scornful tone just as scorching as Cora's had been, back- back before.

"Romantic comedy," declared Scott loudly. "We're thinking 50 First Dates."

"Oh, nice, that's good, I can watch that, that's actually funny," called Stiles, sliding two slices onto a paper plate and shoving the plate at Derek, nodding him toward the living room. "Go sit, make Jackson move from the chair, whatever, but go sit and you can glower at Adam Sandler and that's valid, dude. He's borderline creepy in this one, as opposed to totally creepy in the other Sandler classics."

Derek stalked into the living room- his living room, and stared down at Jackson, who stared up at him for a full ten second count before flinching when Derek growled, "Move."

"Jackson," whined Malia. "Move your kanima ass, already! God, Lydia, the testosterone is so annoying."

"Tell me about it," snorted Lydia. "You should have been here back when it was just me and Allison. All grunts and mumbles and dominance displays, completely ridiculous."

From the things Derek had overheard on other nights, not much had actually changed. Still, it was nice to see the younger adults recognize a man had a right to his own damn chair. He bought it, he paid for it, he-

Stiles perched on the ottoman in front of his chair, scooting it to one side so that it was slightly in front of and slightly to Derek's right, one elbow landing on the front of Derek's armrest. "Okay, we're here, press play!"

The movie started, then, as Derek stared at Stiles' elbow on his armrest.

_That was new._

Derek didn’t know how he _felt_ about it, so he made no effort to address it. Stiles was always doing something alarming, exciting, frustrating, or irritating, and he’d learned that sometimes the best response was a non-response. Still, his eyes kept drifting down the elbow, on his armrest, as he gnawed through two slices of pizza. _What the fuck, Stiles?_

~~~

The movie was actually funny, Derek conceded half-way through, but what was not funny was how everyone else mostly ignored him, teasing each other and laughing and joking with the camaraderie of friends made under extreme circumstances, bonds forged in flames and fright that can definitely stand a little ribbing. Everyone mostly ignored him and that was fine, that was normal and he prefered it, to be honest. Everyone mostly ignored him, except for Stiles, who kept looking back, at every funny part, as if the only person in the room he wanted to share the laughter with... was Derek.

Scott came back with a pizza box and doled out the last slices, sliding another one onto Derek's plate like he had a right to do so, to provide, to care, and then moving on, just as Drew Barrymore began to fall in love with Adam Sandler on a beach. Or a simulated beach. It was hard to tell. Hollywood was good at making fake things seem real.

Derek could relax, forgotten in his chair, except that at the next laugh, Stiles tossed him a quick glance, like he was checking in again to see if Derek was enjoying himself.

And the thing was, Derek would be- this was easily the most comfortable any of them have been around him, and it was nice to be with people who enjoyed being with each other, nice in a way that fit the house, in fact. Derek would be enjoying himself, but Stiles sat there, so close Derek could reach out, if he wanted to, and wrap a hand around Stiles' elbow, touch the soft skin on the inside, there, feel the man's warmth radiate from both directions. He would be enjoying himself, but Stiles kept flashing him too-quick glances, his face full of a fresh slice of pizza or gnawing on a crust, or sipping back some of the soda he was drinking.

Derek would be enjoying himself, but he couldn't figure out what Stiles' game was.

Why pull him down here?

_Why- why care?_

_Why tonight?_

_What the hell, Stiles?_

The movie played on and on, and Stiles kept checking in, and the check-ins got more and more irritating until Derek had to move, had to stand up, had to do something other than sit there, while they all teased and laughed and joked with each other. Stiles was one of them, it was so obvious, the way they tossed him straight lines and he knew how to make Jackson roll his eyes and Scott snort that stupid dumb himbo laugh. Stiles was in his element, here, at the back, only inches from Derek but somehow wholly of the group in front of them, belonging to them, of them, with them. And Derek so painfully wasn't, which was normal and he had no idea why Stiles was checking back on him so often, and so obviously, but suddenly he couldn't stand it.

He stood up, and no one turned to look- everyone was comfortable with his sudden movement. Good. Everyone, of course, except Stiles, who startled and looked up at Derek with dark brown eyes filled with concern.

Concern that shouldn't be there because what the hell did Stiles care, if Derek was there or not here?

"Need a drink," Derek told the concern, because that should do it. That should calm the concern, and he'd go to the kitchen and get a drink, and then the itching urge to flee or to punch something would go away. It'd work because it always worked- find an excuse to leave the group, leave the group, and no one would care that you'd left. It wasn’t like he was part of the group, anyway.

No matter how weird Stiles was acting, tonight.

He slipped away, and Lydia gave him a smile as he passed. He smiled back, polite friendly acquaintances enjoying a movie together.

The kitchen was so open and the light from the fridge felt crisp and clear, like the air that poured out from the open door.

"Everything okay?" asked Stiles, behind him, and Derek tried not to damage the door handle by gripping it too hard, but it was a losing battle and it creaked ominously before he let it go and grabbed a can at random.

_Dammit, Stiles, what the fuck?!_

"Fine," Derek told him shortly, and then realized he'd grabbed grape soda. He made a face of disgust at the can in his hand before he realized he should have hidden that expression.

"Oh-kay," drawled Stiles, blocking the doorway and taking a step closer to Derek. "Only, dude, you do not like the grape or orange sodas and you've got one in your hand."

Derek could feel his heart begin to race, just like that, as Stiles took another step closer. "I know," he told Stiles, and then his brain stopped helping him come up with more words to say. "I know," he repeated.

"So... what's with the grape soda?" asked Stiles quietly. Even his eyes looked quiet. Quiet and gentle, and getting closer with every calm, slow step toward Derek. "Der, are you- if this isn't your thing, thank you for trying-"

"I just-" Derek said, falling silent again. Silence wasn't great, as a tactic for ending a conversation. People filled it with questions. "I just- I like the movie," he told Stiles, to fend off the questions. "I like the movie. And your friends are gre-"

"Our friends," interrupted Stiles, with a small frown. "Der-"

"No," exploded out of Derek before he could stop it, one hand coming up as Stiles took another step closer. "I- I like the movie, this has been fun-"

"But you've got to go now," Stiles said, like that was a reasonable option he was offering to Derek. "Der, that's okay. I had fun. Thank you for coming down and eating pizza, watching a movie, hanging."

"I like the movie," Derek repeated, in a voice that sounded faint and stilted even to his ears. "I like- I like your friends."

"Yeah, except they're our friends, Der," said Stiles with a sad imitation of his usual smile, one shoulder twitching. "They like you. You like them. They- if you need to leave, they'll get it, Der, they're not going to push for more."

"You push," Derek accused him, temper flaring, the hand with the soda can he didn't want rising as if to defensively ward Stiles and Stiles' concern off. _"You_ push." 

"I do," said Stiles slowly, nodding in time with his words, slow, and careful, cautious, when he was the last person on Earth who had to be cautious around Derek. Derek would never- Stiles had earned so much trust, so much- Derek would never hurt Stiles, of all people. Of all the people Stiles never had to worry about hurting him, Derek was at the top of the list, and he'd make sure of it. He'd never have invited Stiles and Scott to live here if he wasn't sure of that fact.

"I do push," agreed Stiles, in a voice barely above breathing. "I'm sorry, Der. I just- I just wanted you to have some pizza, wanted to- hear you laugh."

"Why?" breathed Derek, searching Stiles' face and trembling with the need to flee, the hand holding the can outstretched between them like a shield.

Stiles said nothing, taking one more cautious step, raising his hand carefully, and sliding it around the soda can, tugging it out of Derek's grasp and placing it carefully on the counter. He looked at the can for a very long moment, and Derek watched his face for any sign- any indication- of what he was going to say next, what he was thinking, God, what could Stiles be thinking? To invite Derek down here, to expect Derek to act like he knew the score, knew what to do, knew how to- how to joke and tease and giggle and- and-

"I want you to have good things, Der," said Stiles slowly. "And pizza night, it's- it's a good thing."

The kitchen was silent, the movie playing on in the background, the pack groaning and mocking some decision one of the characters made. "You whimper in your sleep," said Stiles quietly, and Derek could just make out the way Stiles leaned in, from his peripheral vision, because his whole visual focus was trained on the single bead of condensation racing down the can. He couldn't look at Stiles while Stiles was so still, so concerned. _He couldn't._

"You whimper in your sleep, and you- you apologize, Der, for everything, for coming into a room when I'm standing in it, like you're a problem, but you're not, Derek Hale," said Stiles lowly, sliding forward one more step. "I- I push and I'm sorry, but I'm also not sorry because you deserve every good thing- pizza and movies and friends and- and picnics and brunch and food fights and grill outs and- and I don't know- all of it, everything- you deserve this stuff. You're not a problem, Der."

The condensation on the can had made the whole of his vision blurry, somehow.

"I know that," he growled at Stiles.

"I don't think you do," said Stiles sadly, reaching one hand up to touch Derek's cheek, one hand that made Derek's jaw and cheek and chin ache for more in a way he hadn't felt in years. "Der, you can go upstairs, it's okay, you can just be- just be done with tonight, and no one- no one will mind. No one is going to get mad or be upset."

"You will," snarled Derek. Or- or, he tried to snarl it, but it came out breathless, like a gasp.

"I won't," said Stiles, gently turning Derek's chin until Stiles filled his blurry vision. Stiles' kind face, so cautious right now, so understanding, so gentle- and when did those words ever make sense with the stubborn Stilinksi? The kid-not-kid was _synonymous_ with impatience. "I won't get mad. Thank you for coming down, tonight. Thank you for eating the pizza. Thank you for- letting me hear you laugh."

Stupid to want to say _you're welcome._ Stupid to want to say _please, Stiles._

"I liked the movie," Derek got out, gruffly.

"Good, you deserve things you like," said Stiles firmly, his lips quirked up into one of his impossible grins. "I like watching you like the movie."

"You did that a lot, tonight," Derek accused, because anything said offensively must by default be more effective than any of the defensive things he wanted to say.

"I do that a lot, all the time, watch you," admitted Stiles.

There was no suppressing it, this time. "Why?" whined Derek, shifting in place but keeping his head still so the hand would continue to hold it.

"I like you," said Stiles simply, with a shrug. "You don't talk about yourself so I have to watch you, to figure stuff out. Like, you won't ever say you hate mushrooms, but you do."

None of the pizza Stiles had given him tonight had mushrooms, Derek realized. He could smell it in the air of the kitchen, the baked mushroom nastiness, but none of his pizza had been tainted with it. Derek’s heart began to beat faster because that _meant something,_ didn’t it?

"You won't tell me you get nervous when it's more than me and Scott, but I know you when you're grumpy, because you get grumpy in the morning, and I know you when you're nervous, because you were nervous when the contractors broke ground," listed Stiles, his blurry face still so compassionate, his dark eyes so big and wide and earnest. Derek wanted to tell him to stop but he couldn't find the air to form the word, his lips twitching with the syllable again and again. "And this is _nervous,_ and that's okay. Not everyone likes big puppy piles. But you still came down and ate pizza and sat in your chair, and I think you did it for me, and you know what I think that means?"

"What?" breathed Derek, mystified and caught, trapped, in ways he had been so careful not to get trapped, again. Trapped by brown eyes who had somehow seen him again, seen into him and learned him and now he wasn't safe, no one was safe, again, as his heart began to hammer so loudly it almost drowned out Stiles' response. _Almost._

"I think it means you like me," offered Stiles, before licking his lips and saying, hesitantly, "And that's okay, too, if you do. I- I don't watch you just because I'm curious."

Derek couldn't breathe.

"Okay, I'm gonna-" announced Stiles. "I'm going to kiss you, and if that's a problem, if you don't want that, you have to say that now, Derek, because I really, really want this to be good, for you. So good you want more."

Derek snorted, and then inhaled sharply as Stiles leaned in, and pressed his lips so softly against Derek's. 

_He had to be on his tiptoes_ , was the only clear thought in Derek's mind, as he breathed in the scent of pizza and orange soda and Stiles, all mingled together. Stiles had to be standing on his tiptoes, to kiss Derek like that, so softly, so gently, so-

The lips pressed to his curved up, and then eased back. "You okay?" asked Stiles, grinning cockily. "You didn't say no," he pointed out, the grin widening.

"I didn't," agreed Derek, daring him to say anything about it with a scowl.

"That means you like me, too," Stiles informed him smugly, rocking back on his heels. "I knew it! I knew you had to!"

"I might not," Derek told him. "You ambushed me- I grabbed the wrong soda. I might-"

"You do," Stiles interrupted him gleefully. "You do like me, you like me in a _kissing_ kind of liking way, and we're leaving movie night, we're going up to my room- no, no, your room, you'll like that better, that'll be good for you, and we're going to- you're going to let me kiss you more because you like me and you like me kissing you."

"I might not," said Derek faintly, cheeks flushing with heat.

"Bye, guys, I just kissed Derek and we're going to go do that more," Stiles announced loudly, before Derek could get the hand over his mouth to silence him.

"SHh," he hissed, but the reaction from the living room shocked him to silence.

"Finally," three people muttered in unison.

_Finally?!_

"Scott!" yelped Stiles, pushing Derek's hand away and tossing him a disgusted look before it transformed into gleeful again, his hand never quite letting go of Derek's hand again as he pulled Derek to the stairs, "Did you hear me, we're going to go kiss!"

"Good for you, man," said Scott, and then Lydia said, "Oooh, do you have popcorn?"

"I'd kill for popcorn," announced Malia.

"Enjoy the movie!" shouted Stiles, and somehow they were at the top of the stairs now, Stiles still tugging him along.

"Enjoy the kissing!" laughed Scott, snorting.

Jackson had the remote, so it must have been Jackson who turned the sound on the TV up, to the general outcry of, "Oh for fuck's sake, they're leaving, stop, you're being a jerk!"

Stiles stepped into Derek's room and closed the door on the whole world firmly, before turning around and re-centering Derek's world on his grin. "You like me," he repeated to Derek, his eyes sparkling with mischief and delight, always a dangerous combination. "So _you_ should kiss _me,_ this time."

And, Derek had to admit, Stiles had a really good point.

It felt good to feel Stiles' lips curl up in the second kiss, too.


End file.
